


Love Never Dies

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cute, Fluff, JeanxMarco - Freeform, M/M, Sad, Sweet, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean had lost the love of his life in a tragic accident, he was destroyed and broken. Finally, he finds the man responsible, but upon meeting the man's family, he's reminded of the loss. Jean seeps deeper into his depression until a small miracle changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Never Dies

“Marco! Where on earth are you going?” The shorter asked, laughing softly. “Jean, watch out!” A freckle covered male grabbed onto Jean's arm, pulling him over the fallen tree with a laugh as they were knocked over onto the lush grass. “It's been too long since I've had you, Marco...” Jean said sadly, making the other give him a sorrowful smile. “Soon.”

 

Jean was woken by his alarm clock, blaring. Jean had the same dream, every night. One thing had changed, though. Usually, it ended with Marco saying 'someday', but now it was soon. He didn't understand why. The tired male looked out his window, looking on the busy streets of New York, remembering the times he and his lovely boyfriend would walk down those very streets... Marco had been hit by a car and was in a coma for three months before his family decided it was too late. Jean wouldn't ever stop hating them for doing such a thing.

 

Though, he knew, Marco's soul had long left his body. He saw it. No one believed him, but he watched as Marco flew into the sky on the largest wings he'd ever seen. He looked pure, completely relaxed. But, now? Jean was alone. He had Marco's cat, but that was all that was left other than a sweater. Marco always had the scent of Lavender, and it stayed in that sweater. Jean refused to wash it, simply keeping it tucked under his bed in a box until days he'd hug it close and simply cry. How he missed his boyfriend. Today was even sadder than usual. Why? Because gentle rain was pouring outside.

 

\--

 

A feeling of emptiness, it never left Jean. Rain only reminded him. The driver was a total drunk, driving far too fast on wet roads, not even looking as they crossed the crosswalk when it was perfectly allowed. Marco was laughing, holding hands with Jean. Jean didn't even notice the car screaming down the street, not until Marco gave him a hard shove, unable to move himself out of the way. The truck crushed every bone in Marco's body, Jean could still remember the horrific sound. Marco had hit the ground, blood forming a puddle all around him. Jean ran to his lover, taking him in his arms as the man driving the truck simply kept going. People ran to them, people got out of their cars even.

 

Marco didn't see any of them, only Jean. He gave a weak smile to the sobbing other. “Don't cry...” “M-Marco..! You're dying!” Jean sobbed, holding Marco close to his own body. “Polo...” Was the weak whisper, making Jean cry even harder, hanging his head. “Marco.” “Polo...” “Marco.” “P-polo...” “Marco.” “Po...lo...” “M-Marco...” no response and Jean simply hung his head back as the rain poured onto his face, and yelled. He didn't know what he was yelling at, but he just was. When he opened his eyes and looked up at the sky, he was shocked at what he saw.

 

\--

 

Jean knew he had seen Marco, there wasn't any doubt. He knew Marco was safe, too, but he still missed him. Everyday, Jean had to force himself to wake up. He had to force himself to move, to do anything other than decay and rot in bed. He worked, but didn't speak to anyone there. Armin, Eren, Mikasa, no one. Jean was lost without Marco, an utter and complete mess. Until, one day, he received a call. “They've found who did it!” Jean's mother, no doubt. She had always worried greatly. “Did what, mother?” Jean sounded as empty as usual. “They found who murdered Marco!” Jean's eyes grew wide, blinking away tears. “Where?” “Jean you don't need to go there.” “ _Where_?” “776 Cherry Vine Road.” He knew that place. It was nearby, actually. “Jean, don't do anything-” click. He had already hung up.

 

It didn't take him but a few minutes to get his bag, his coat, and shoes on. He rushed outside, not even caring that he was getting wet. He simply ran to that house, as fast as he could. Slipping a few times, people gave him odd looks, but he just pushed through. Finally, he stopped. The house looked good, nothing you would expect to house a drunk who brutally murdered someone so incredibly innocent.

 

\--

 

“Jean, I dunno...” Marco said rather shyly, looking away as his face was dusted over with a pink color. “Marco, listen,” Jean guided his lover to look at him, smiling softly. “I love you, so much.” “Polo.” Jean chuckled, “Marco.” He replied sweetly, moving up and gently taking his lover in a deep kiss. “Are you sure it's okay?” Marco mumbled into the kiss, his arms moving around the shorter's shoulders. “I won't for you, Marco. Just tell me, if you want to stop.” Jean whispered gently against the freckled skin.

 

Marco laughed softly, “That tickles! I promise, soon, Jean. But not yet. Give me some more time?” “I will wait until the end of the earth just to hold your hand, take your time,” Jean assured his lover, planting sweet open mouth kisses on his shoulder which was covered in freckle. “Thank you.”

 

\--

 

Jean just wanted him back. He knocked on the door, and upon it opening seen a woman with two kids holding onto her legs. The tears already running down his face only added at that. “Oh, my! Honey, go get a towel.” The two kids ran off to do as asked, and the woman quickly had Jean step inside. “What's happened? Did something happen, sir?” She sounded so worried. “I came here, fully prepared to beat someone to a bloody pulp... B-but I can't do it...” Jean cried out, holding his hand over his face. “What are you talking about? Are you in some kind of danger?” The woman asked, concern lacing her voice.

 

“Your husband ran over someone incredibly important to me, one year ago today. It was raining just like it is now. He was drunk, speeding down the highway, going straight through a red light, and...” Jean trailed off, having to muffle a sob. “He killed Marco Bott, a sixteen-year-old high school student who wanted to become a doctor and help injured people... He was a smart kid, who couldn't hurt anyone, and only wanted to make people happy, he made me so happy...” The woman covered her mouth, looking at Jean in complete shock, tears brimming in her eyes. “Oh my god, I didn't know... He did such a terrible thing... That day, he wouldn't tell me... Oh my god...”

 

Jean was offered an unexpected kindness, the woman hugged him. “Forgive me, I didn't have the courage to stop him that day. He left the house drunker than anything I'd seen before, but I didn't stop him...” She whispered, hugging him close. “I should have, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive him, and me. I promise, I promise you everything I have, he is a good man. He wouldn't speak of what he did, he tore himself up over it... We had to send him to therapy for a long time... What is your name?” Jean looked away from her. “My name doesn't matter, all you need to remember is Marco Bott... A boy who was taken before he should have been, flew high in the sky with the largest and prettiest wings, on April fifth...” A day before his birthday. “Don't _ever_ forget him. You owe him that much.” Jean said simply, cleaning the tears from his face before he simply walked out of the house.

 

The children came running down the stairs, looking up at their sobbing mother. “Mama, what's wrong?” “Papa is an evil man, who needs to beg for forgiveness to that man.” She ran out the door, barefoot and barely dressed for the heavy rain. “Stop, please!” She begged, grabbing Jean's hand. “Please, I want to meet with you again. With my husband. I want you to meet him, I want you to say whatever you like to him! You deserve as much.” Jean smiled sadly at her kind words.

 

“I'm Jean Kirstein, there's a cafe on the main street, just ask for me there...” He said, pausing for a moment. “You'll get sick out in the rain like this.” He took off his jacket and draped it around the woman, who watched as he walked away.

 

\--

 

The woman kept her word, only a week later she and her husband visited the cafe and asked for Jean. He came to the front, and they went outside to talk. The man didn't seem kind, he seemed very mean. “Jean Kirstein,” he held out his hand, which wasn't shaken. “So, you think I murdered someone? I didn't. Wasn't my fault some kid ran into the road.” “Honey...” “It's true. Some brat runs into the road, ain't my fault he got killed. Maybe it taught him a lesson.”

 

Jean couldn't take it, he hit the man directly in the nose, breaking it. “You are nothing but a coward.” Jean hissed, leaving before any words could be said. He didn't have the time. When he got home, Jean began to scatter endless things, tearing up the apartment.

 

He once shared this place with Marco, it was once filled with life, with laughter. Now, it was empty, cold, and always so lonely. It reminded Jean of Marco, reminded him that he'd never get to hold him again. Jean couldn't take it. He _couldn't_. Jean ran into the bathroom, there he grabbed a bottle of pills, pouring them out into his hand. Jean stood there, staring at himself in the mirror, what kind of idiot was he? Marco wouldn't ever forgive him for this. For not living his life. Jean let an uneasy sob out, throwing the pills down into the trash. “Polo.” He whispered under his breath, sliding down the wall he hugged his legs to his chest and simply cried.

 

There wasn't a single day Jean didn't miss Marco or didn't think of him, it was constant. He felt cold, empty, and alone, but he pushed through. Marco would have wanted him to, after all. He couldn't betray that. He had to live. Even if this life wasn't worth living without his lover.

 

Jean didn't care that they hadn't ever made it past removing pants, he only cared that they didn't get past being boyfriends. He wanted to grow old with Marco, have a family with him, and die together. He never wanted one of them to be left behind. Hell, he even included the damn cat in his dreams.

 

His dreams... They were always about Marco. Not once had he had a dream that didn't include Marco. They were always the same, but he loved them. Waking up was the hardest thing, but falling asleep was always so welcoming. He knew, once he fell asleep, he'd be with Marco again. Even if it was just a dream, he'd hear that precious laugh...

 

He managed to force himself through, he managed to live, only for that dream. Every day he woke up and made it through, just to have that dream again. He wanted nothing else and lived for no other reason.

 

 

\--

 

Four months had gone by before Jean saw the woman, but she had a stroller with her. “Were you _pregnant_?” Jean asked in shock. The woman was tiny, so he never knew. “I was. I had a little boy, and I felt you'd want to meet him!” She said happily, picking up a small baby bundled in blankets. “His name is Marco Bott Aventine,” She said, smiling at him softly. The baby had freckled cheeks, dark hair, and big, curious, brown eyes.

 

Jean had shown the woman a picture of Marco, and told her many tails of him. But this? He never expected it, and he couldn't help but cry. “You see, I wasn't able to visit because in the last month of my pregnancy I became very ill. When I went into labor, and gave birth, I almost passed. Why I was on the brink of death...” She paused, blushing faintly. “It might be strange sounding, but, I seen an angel standing next to me. Holding my hand, he leaned down, kissed my forehead, and thanked me for taking care of you.” She said, tears in her own eyes. “When I seen how much he looked like Marco, I knew that it was God's way of telling me that I shouldn't let you slip out of my life.” She was a religious woman, but Jean didn't mind; Marco had been too.

 

The baby looked up at Jean, giving a soft smile. “Polo,” Jean whispered, smiling faintly. “Will you be his godfather?” The question was so sudden, Jean simply stared at her for a moment but nodded nonetheless. “Of course.”

 

\--

 

Days turned into months, months turned into years, and Jean was now thirty years old. Marco was fourteen, young and happy. He wasn't the same as his Marco, but he was everything Jean needed to know he wasn't alone. He could feel Marco now, always present with him.

 

Jean had been sick for the past two years, cancer had taken a toll on his body. He didn't go through chemo, it was too late for that by the time they had caught it. He had a very late stage of blood cancer, he was always cold but found warmth being asked to stay with the woman -Emilia-, her son Justin, daughter Maria, and the young boy Marco. The three kids were slowly bringing life back into the -as they called him- old man. The woman was also helping.

 

Slowly, though, Jean was getting weaker. Less able to play, and have fun. Still, he didn't mind. He'd run barefoot on the lush grass with the kids, laughing as he fell over and they followed behind. Her two eldest had young children of their own, now, and Jean was seen as their uncle. The emptiness in his heart was filled, almost perfectly. Nothing could replace Marco, but he, at least, wasn't sad.

 

Now, he sat in a wheelchair, a blanket spread over his lap to keep him from getting cold. “Marco, come here.” He called to the fourteen-year-old, who was gardening with his mother. “I'd like you to have this. It's going to be too big, but it'll be comfortable.” Jean handed the other the folded sweater, that had belonged to Marco. “It smells like lavender!” The kid beamed. Jean laughed weakly, reaching up and ruffling his hair. “Take good care of it.” An old, lazy cat, sat in Jean's lap, giving a tired meow.

 

The kid laughed, grinning at Jean. “Thanks, I will, promise!” He began to run off, but not before the kid turned around and shouted, “Marco!” and Jean smiled softly. “Polo.” He said, closing his eyes as he relaxed. Today was very pretty. Jean always enjoyed watching the young kid play with his nieces and nephews, laughing at their silly games. The woman had become his best friend, “Emilia, thank you. For everything, you've done for me. I really did want to give up, but you gave me so much hope.” Jean smiled at her.

 

“Please! I didn't do anything. Thank you, Jean. I would still be with that awful man, and I doubt Marco would be so happy without such a wonderful godfather like you around.” “Now, now, I think you both saved each other.” Maria corrected, laughing softly. “Mother never used to smile like she does now. Not when our father was around, poor bastard. If only he knew what he missed out on.” “Maria, don't be like that. Your father had his chances, so he doesn't even get to imagine.” Emilia scolded her daughter. Jean simply laughed. “A wonderful family, this truly is.”

 

“Marco! Come on, it's time to eat and get some rest!”

 

\--

 

Now, Jean was thirty-five, unable to leave his room. The cat had passed away not too long after turning another year older, but Jean couldn't blame the old thing. He hated to admit it, but sometimes he missed the annoying creature. Marco would always tease him about how he swore he hated the cat, but it seemed to love him so much. Jean supposed it was true, thinking about it.

 

“Jean! We're going out for something to eat. Do you want to come with?” “No, no. I'm fine. Thank you, though. I think I'll just stay here and continue writing this.” “What's that?” Marco asked curiously. “A journal. I've had it since a year before I met Marco. It's only got a few pages left in it.” Jean laughed softly. “Wow! That's so cool. That's like, basically your life story in there, right?” The teenager beamed. “That's right. Someday, I'll let you read it.” Jean ruffled the teen's hair, who complained and soon said goodbye, leaving the house.

 

Jean let out a heavy sigh, smiling softly. “Look at that, a rainy day. Doesn't that bring back memories.” The male often talked to himself, well, technically it wasn't himself. Since lately out of the corner of his eye he could see Marco standing next to him. He'd never speak, but would be there. “So, is today the big day?” No answer but Jean felt a hand on his shoulder. “No, no. I'm not sad. Sure, I'll miss the kid, but he'll be fine. Emilia is a strong woman, too.” Jean said, smiling as he continued to look out of the window. Raindrops rolling down the glass.

 

“Marco.” This voice wasn't the kid's, no, this was _Marco_. “Polo,” Jean whispered, finally able to hear his lover's voice. “It's time to come home, Jean...” Marco whispered. “I was beginning to miss you.” “When did you stop?” Marco teased, giving a gentle laugh. Jean looked over at him, smiling as tears filled his eyes. He could see Marco as clearly as he had the day he died, flying in the sky as the raindrops simply looked like jewels all around him.

 

Marco held out his hand for his lover, smiling kindly. “Come on, Jean.” Shakily, Jean stood up and took Marco's hand. The touch made his body change, he sixteen again. Wings were now on his back, and he glowed like Marco. He felt warm, completely happy, and he felt nothing but bliss. He could feel the warmth of Marco's hand, hear the sweet noise of his laughter, and see his lover's beautiful, freckled face.

 

“Mother, _look_!”

 

The woman looked up at the sky, smiling as tears filled her eyes. “That's what love looks like, sweetheart... Beautiful, everlasting, and pure.” She whispered, petting her son's dark hair. “Marco!” Her son called out, grinning from ear to ear as they watched the two angels fly away together in the sparkling rain. “Polo...” She whispered, wiping the tear that fell down her face. “Thank you, Jean... I won't forget you, either.”

 

She meant her words, too. Soon, she had become an incredibly successful writer. She had written a story based off of the journal Jean kept, naming her story; _Love Never Dies_.

 

Love was something that couldn't be blown out like a candle. Death wasn't something to fear, not anymore. Jean and Marco were together, happy, and forever in peace. Forever in _love_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So~ What did you think?~ I'd love to know! Please leave some feedback! Should I write some more of this ship?


End file.
